


Tricks And Treats

by thehotinpsychotic



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, Halloween, Peterick, Trick or Treating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehotinpsychotic/pseuds/thehotinpsychotic





	Tricks And Treats

"No way," Patrick protests. 

"Come on!" Pete pleads. 

"We’re not going!" Patrick barks.

"Please?" Pete begs.

"Pete, you’re fucking twenty two years old, we’re  _not_ going trick or treating!” Patrick snarls.2 Hours Later 

Patrick wishes he had kept his word. But no, now he’s wandering the streets of Chicago dressed up as Robin because Pete  _just had_ to be Batman. 

Pete walks next to him, skipping almost with glee. He’s swinging his jack o’lantern pail, sending the small amount of candy in there sliding back and forth. They’ve been to twelve houses so far, four of which gave him a single piece of candy (only after admonishing that they were too old to be doing this), three that asked if he was a special needs adult and, when told no, slammed the door, two that didn’t answer, two that answered, sighed, and slammed the door, and one that asked where the hidden cameras were. Pete has made literally a dozen stops, and he only has four pieces of candy to show for it. To think that he had considered bringing a pillowcase to, quote, “Carry more loot.”

"I told you this was a dumb idea," Patrick scowls. 

"It’s something to do," Pete responds, eating all of his earned chocolates in one mouthful. 

Patrick rolls his eyes, wondering how red his face must be at the embarrassment of being in tights. 

“Hey, hey, isn’t that Joe’s house?” Pete asks, nudging Patrick. His gloved finger points to a worn down house on their left, the yard totally bare.

“I don’t think so,” Patrick answers. “Joe loves Halloween; he would’ve decorated.”

Pete pouts, whining, “I want more candy. I’ve barely gotten any.”

Patrick shrugs, admitting, “Adults don’ t want to spend their hard-earned money on you, I’m sorry.”   
  
Pete continues to sulk, dragging his feet.

“Do you want to buy some candy?” Patrick offers. “There’s the supermarket right there.”

Suddenly, Pete grins. “No, I’ve got a better idea.” He grabs Patrick by the wrist, rushing over to the store.

They get some strange looks in there, and Patrick again finds himself blushing. Pete, unaffected, charges down the aisles, Patrick in tow.

“People think we’re crazy,” Patrick mutters. He sighs, mentioning, “Pete, you just passed the candy aisle.”

“I’m not here for candy, I told you that,” Pete replies.

Patrick scoffs, nearly running into Pete as he halts. “Then what are you…”

Patrick’s eyes wander over to what part of the store they’re at, and that’s the refrigerated section. Pete piles cartons of eggs into his arms, dozen after dozen. Four under his left arm and three under his right, he heads back to the front of the store.

Patrick begins, “You’re not going to-”

“Oh yes I am,” Pete interrupts. He pays for his poultry, striding as quickly as he can outside without dropping his cargo.

“Pete, that’s fucking stupid. You’re going to get caught,” Patrick lectures.

“Bullshit,” Pete smirks, moving faster. “I’m not stupid; I’ll hide.”

Pete stops in front of one of the houses that had refused him any treats. He opens a carton, taking out a single egg and sizing it up.

“Peter,” Patrick warns.

Pete raises his arm, egg in his hand.

“Peter, put that down,” Patrick scolds. “Right-”

The egg hits the house with a sickening crack. The whites and yolk oozes down the siding, seeping into the cracks of the paneling. Pete throws a few more before ducking behind a hedge, leaving Patrick with no choice but to follow him.

The two sit, crouched low to the ground as they hear the door open.

There are a few moments of silence, Patrick’s stomach twisting anxiously, and Pete biting his thumb to cover his own snickering.

After a couple more nail biting seconds of silence, the door slams, followed by a muffled, “Fuck!”

Pete bursts out laughing, falling onto his back. He kicks his legs, one hand clutched over his stomach as he just falls to pieces.

Patrick watches in astonishment, then smacking his friend in the thigh, cursing, “You fucking idiot, we could’ve gotten caught!”

“But we didn’t,” Pete reasons, still giggling. He slides the opened container of eggs to Patrick, grinning. “You know you want to.”

Patrick picks up an egg, slowly rising over the hedge. He hesitates, then hurls it at the house, dropping back to the yard before it makes contact.

Pete grabs a handful, launching them all before gathering his things, cutting along the hedge and through their victims’ back yard to the next house.

“I’ve got a great idea, let’s hit the fucking back yards,” Pete tells. “They’ll have no idea.”  
The two throw six eggs at the next house, nine at the succeeding, and then thirteen or so at a particularly expensive home. They toss eggs until their arms are sore and the backyards of the suburb are littered with empty egg cartons, then hurrying home.


End file.
